


dark wings

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: F/F, Gen, Original Cat Clans (Warriors)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Lynxpaw is the daughter of a banished queen, Birchshade, and as such, isn’t expected to become anything but a future exile. But when she suddenly starts receiving visions—something only healers are supposed to—of a forest bathed in blood and a shadowy she-cat standing on top of a towering boulder, the remainder of the clans cowering before her, she’s unwillingly drawn into a conspiracy that will turn blood against blood.
Kudos: 6





	1. allegiances

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm writing warriors fic in 2020. i have no shame.

THE TERRITORIES:

BIRD WITH SHARP EYES/BIRDCLAN

Leader: Owlstar - silver and yellow classic tabby with pale blue eyes and brown socks on her front paws and a brown patch over her left eye. 

Deputy: Smoketalon - pinkish-grey she-cat with a scar bisecting her right eye, and two black patches on her pelt.

Healer: Bird - sandy-brown tom with green eyes.

Warriors:

Oaktail - dark brown she-cat with a silver sock on her left hindleg.

Swiftfoot - grey and white tom.

Whiteheart - black tom with a white mask and a white patch on his chest.

Rainstep - brown, gold, and silver she-cat.

Apprentice: Lynxpaw

Blackpelt - white she-cat with a black stripe down her back.

Apprentice: Yarrowpaw

Fincheye - golden-eyed tom.

Robinwing - white and red-brown tom.

Meadowleap - blue-grey she-cat with yellow speckles on her coat.

Willowsong - dark grey tom with black stripes

Snowbreeze - calico tom.

Apprentice: Falconpaw

Queens:

Onyxflight - large brown queen with a tawny patch over her left ear. 

Mate: Willowsong

Kits: Hawkkit

Fernwhisker - small, pale cream queen with striking black eyes.

Mate: Swiftfoot

Kits: Mirrorkit

Hardfall - scrappy tortie queen.

Mate: Fallowtail (deceased)

Kits: Greykit, Softkit, Mosskit

Turtleshadow - brown and dirty grey queen with one gold eye and one blind eye.

Mate: Robinwing

Apprentices:

Falconpaw - dappled grey tom.

Yarrowpaw - yellow and white she-cat.

Lynxpaw - silver and gold she-cat.

Kits:

Mosskit - grey she-kit.

Greykit - brown and grey tabby she-kit.

Softkit - fluffy tortie tom.

Hawkkit - blue tom.

Mirrorkit - half gold, half silver she-kit with one green eye and one black eye.

Elders:

Silentstep - slender she-cat.

Tawnyear - small she-cat with a bobbed tail and tattered ears.

LEOPARD WITH QUIET PAWS/LEOPARDCLAN

Leader: Servalstar - powerful she-cat with large ears.

Deputy: Marshdapple - brown tom with black leopard-spots.

Healer: Leopard - small sandy-grey tom with one white sock.

MINNOW WHO SWIMS SWIFTLY/MINNOWCLAN

Leader: Troutstar - silvery-blue tom with a long face.

Deputy: Bluestream - tuxedo she-cat.

Healer: Minnow - grey and brown she-cat with brown eyes.

BEYOND THE TERRITORIES:

ASH’S ROGUES

Captain: Ashwind - cream, silver, and dark-grey she-cat.

Dappleddawn - cream and pink tom.

Morrowseer - ghostly-pale tom with pink eyes.

EXILES

Birchshade - black she-cat with red and sandy-yellow dappling; Lynxpaw’s mother; former Birdclan queen.

Shatter - grey and black tom; former member of Ash’s rogues

Alan - tawny and white she-cat; former member of Ash’s rogues.

Dapplepelt - blue and red tom; former Minnowclan tom.


	2. chapter one

The early morning sunshine shone brightly through the ivy covering the apprentices’ den; though the air was sharp this early in the day, and it would warm up later on, the fact that it was the end of leaf-fall was clear. Soon, leaf-bare would be upon the clans, and the apprentices would be forced to draw their nests together to try and stay warm.

Lynxpaw, however, was not thinking of the upcoming trials of leaf-bare; she was sleeping soundly in her own nest, her fluffy golden tail flickering lightly in sleep.

“Lynxpaw!”

At the sound of her mentor’s voice, she shifted slightly, grumbling in her sleep. Yarrowpaw, already awake, padded into the den and nudged her. “Lynxpaw,” she whispered, “come on, get up—it’s time for us to patrol!”

“It’s too early,” Lynxpaw grumbled sleepily, uncurling herself from the tight ball she had fallen asleep in, and stretched out, yawning widely; whiskers twitching. “I hate morning patrols.”

“Everyone does,” Yarrowpaw said, sympathetically, licking the other she-cat’s cheek. “Come on—the faster we get going, the faster we can get it over with.”

Lynxpaw sighed. “Okay. I need to grab something from the prey hollow, though.”

Yarrowpaw shook her head. “There’s no time,” she replied, “the sun’s already above the horizon—Blackpelt will be pissed if we’re any later. I’m sure Rainstep will let you catch something along the way.” She turned, padding out of the den, white fur gleaming like snow where the sun hit it.

Lynxpaw sighed, giving a forlorn glance over her shoulder at her warm, soft nest, before she followed after the other she-cat.

“Where have you been?” Rainstep scolded when Lynxpaw caught up to them on the way out of camp. “I called you ten times at least! You have to stop staying up watching the stars all night or you’ll never make it past apprenticeship.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Lynxpaw mumbled, and then cowered slightly under the larger she-cat’s ferocious glare. “Okay, sorry. I’ll try and not.”

The lie stung slightly as they padded through the moors, the heather and the winds tugging at their pelts. Yarrowpaw and Blackpelt took the lead, which Lynxpaw was grateful for, too caught up in her own thoughts to try and help lead a patrol. The past few nights, she had found herself staying up talking to Yarrowpaw.

The two had never been close as kits, but recently, Lynxpaw had found herself drawn to the pretty little she-cat, admiring the other’s dark brown eyes and the contrast of the yellow and white fur on her belly when the other would lounge while grooming herself; and, she had also learnt, Yarrowpaw was a phenomenal conversationalist; able to keep Lynxpaw, the flightiest and most easily distracted of the three apprentices, engaged.

Despite her words to her mentor, Lynxpaw felt certain she could never give up her late nights with Yarrowpaw.

Suddenly, she raised her head, a strange scent catching her attention. “Can anyone smell that?” she asked.

By her side, Rainstep frowned. “Yeah—it’s not a clan cat’s scent, though.”

“Must be a rogue,” Blackpelt chimed in, her deep voice rumbling with irritation, and she sniffed deeply. “Two or three, maybe. No more than four, though.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye out and let Owlstar know,” Rainstep said; and Lynxheart nodded. How exciting! she thought. This was the most interesting thing that had ever happened on any patrol she had been on—Yarrowpaw and Falconpaw had once gotten into a border skirmish with a Minnowclan patrol, but Lynxpaw had missed it, spending the day helping Bird, the clan’s healer, collect herbs instead.

The texture of blackberry leaves still came up like a phantom sensation sometimes—fuzzy and bitter. Even now, she found her nose instinctually wrinkling at the memory.

The rest of the patrol passed uneventfully; Rainstep did let her hunt, though, and Lynxpaw felt proud for managing to catch a small hare herself; sharing it with the rest of the patrol. Even Blackpelt, who usually didn’t think very highly of Lynxpaw, looked impressed for a moment.

“Good job, Lynxpaw,” Rainstep murmured, brushing her cheek against her apprentice’s briefly. “Let’s bury the bones so that it doesn’t attract a racoon or dog.”

Lynxpaw nodded, and did as told; covering the grave as neatly as she could and silently thanking the ancestors for the warm meal.

Their spirits were all higher on the way back; and Lyxpaw and Yarrowpaw trotted along behind their mentors, chatting about the upcoming gathering. “Who do you think will go?” Lynxpaw asked. She’d never been to a gathering—she was a moon younger than Yarrowpaw and her brother, Falconpaw, who had both already been to a gathering. 

Yarrowpaw hummed. “I think Tawnyear is going this time,” she said. “I heard Smoketalon and her talking—she’s getting old, and she wants to get the chance to see Leopard one last time.”

“Leopard?” Lynxpaw frowned. “Isn’t that the Leopardclan healer?” Yarrowpaw nodded. “Why would she want to see him?”

The other hesitated for a moment, before speaking quietly, gaze darting around as if she was afraid their mentors might hear their conversation and scold them. “Tawnyear is halfclan,” she explained. “Her mother, Mallowbloom, was Leopardclan, and when she died after giving birth to Leopard and Tawnyear, Perchstar, the old Birdclan leader, and Servalstar agreed one kit would go to each clan.”

Lynxpaw’s mouth formed a small ‘o’. Tawnyear had always been nice to her—nicer than the other members of her clan, often. Maybe this was why—she felt a kinship with Lynxpaw, who, with an exiled mother, was halfclan in a way too.

“I never knew,” she murmured, instead. “Does she not like anyone to know?”

Yarrowpaw shook her head. “No, she doesn’t mind,” she replied, “she’s actually kind of proud of it. Owlstar, though—she’s afraid that if more cats knew, that it might set a bad example, or something—”

“Hurry up!” Rainstep called from ahead, “we don’t have all day. We need to tell Owlstar about the rogues.”

“Sorry,” the apprentices muttered in tandem, sheepishly, and hastily quickened their pace to catch up to the older she-cats.


	3. chapter two

When they returned from morning patrol, Rainstep and Blackpelt made their way over to where Smoketalon was standing, debriefing him on scent of the rogues they had found on patrol. Though she couldn’t hear what the she-cat said from where she was standing, Lynxheart could see the frown that tugged at her expression.

By her side, Yarrowpaw shifted. “Hey,” she said, “Falconpaw and I were going to go hunting after morning patrol—do you want to come?”

“Are you sure?” Lynxpaw asked. Falconpaw wasn’t outright hostile towards her, but like many other members of the clan, the tom often gave the apprentice a wide berth. “I don’t’ want to intrude…”

Yarrowpaw shook her head. “You won’t be,” she promised.

Lynxpaw hesitated. “Alright,” she said, finally, “I’ll ask Rainstep if I can. I don’t think she has any training planned for me today, so it should be fine.”

The other beamed; and Lynxpaw’s mouth felt dry for a moment. She turned and padded towards where Rainstep had retreated back into the warriors’ den. “Rainstep?” she called quietly, mindful of the other warriors still dozing. “Can I talk to you?”

“What is it, Lynxpaw?” the she-cat asked.

“Can I go hunting with Falconpaw and Yarrowpaw?” she asked, watching the larger she-cat’s tail flick as she thought. Finally, Rainstep nodded her assent, and Lynxpaw tried not to leap for joy at it. “Thank you,” she murmured, and exited the den, practically racing over to where Yarrowpaw and Falconpaw stood by the camp exit.

The dappled tom narrowed his eyes at Lynxpaw when he caught sight of her; and as she approached, Lynxpaw heard him say, tone carefully neutral, “ _Lynxpaw_ is coming?”

“Yes. I asked her,” Yarrowpaw retorted; and then, to Lynxpaw, “sorry about him, he must have eaten a bad vole. Come on, let’s go—the prey isn’t going to hunt itself!”

Lynxpaw found herself grinning at the other’s quip; and followed after her out of camp.

The three apprentices made their way onto the moors. “Okay,” Yarrowpaw said, “whoever catches the most prey gets the soft feathers I got for my nest yesterday.”

“With a prize like that, how could we resist?” Falconpaw said drily. 

Yarrowpaw scowled at him. “Three, two, one,” she said quickly, and hared off towards the heather. Falconpaw and Lynxheart exchanged a glance before splitting off in opposite directions. Bolstered by her earlier success with the hare, Lynxpaw kept an eye out for any hares or rabbits.

Unfortunately, though, there were no hares to be found, nor rabbits; and by the time they gathered back outside camp, Lynxpaw had only managed to catch a few voles. Falconpaw had caught two voles and a bird, and Yarrowpaw, always the better hunter of the three of them, had managed a vole, three birds, and a shrew.

“Guess I get to keep my feathers, then,” she said, around her mouthful of prey; and both Falconpaw and Lynxpaw glared at her half-heartedly.

They trotted back to camp just in time to hear Owlstar’s voice ring out. “Let all cats old enough to roam the moors gather beneath the Highrock!” the she-cat called. At her words, the warriors who had been milling around the clearing chatting with each other and eating began to gather around the highrock.

The three apprentices deposited their prey on the prey mount. “I wonder what she’s going to say,” Falconpaw murmured.

“Probably talk about the Gathering tonight,” Yarrowpaw replied.

Once the clan had gathered, Owlstar began. “The following cats will be attending tonight’s Gathering: Robinwing, Meadowleap, Falconpaw, Lynxpaw, Whiteheart, Rainstep, and Oaktail. Thank you.” With that, she dipped her head and retreated to her den.

Yarrowpaw turned to Lynxpaw. “I can’t believe you’re going!” she exclaimed. “You’re going to have so much fun—I’m so jealous! Hey—” she nudged Lynxpaw’s shoulder— “maybe next time we’ll get to go together and I can introduce you to some of my friends.”

“You’re not supposed to fraternise with other clans,” Falconpaw sniffed.

Yarrowpaw rolled her eyes. “Ignore him,” she said. “My friends will like you.”

“I’d like that,” Lynxpaw said quietly; relishing the warm press of the other she-cat’s shoulder against her own. “I’ll make sure to listen for anything interesting,” Lynxpaw added. “That way you can feel like you were there with me.”

The other smiled at her. “I’d like that,” she echoed.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully; and before she knew it, Lynxpaw found herself by Rainstep’s side, following the rest of the cats up a steep hill. “Remember,” Rainstep whispered, “you’re allowed to talk to the other clans, but you’re not to get too close to any of them.”

Lynxpaw resisted the urge to snap _I know, everyone’s already told me._ That wouldn’t be fair to Rainstep—her mentor was just trying to look out for her. But she _had_ heard it a dozen times already at least—especially from the members of the clan who most distrusted her.

The complaints on her tongue fell away the instant they reached the ridge, though; the clearing laid out before them was bathed in beautiful moonlight, cats milling around; younger apprentices leaping over the streams that crisscrossed the sandy ground.

“It’s… _beautiful,_ ” Lynxpaw murmured, mostly to herself—the rest of the cats, already accustomed to the sight, had crossed over the ridge and begun to descend into the clearing. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Lynxpaw hastily bounded after them.

Birdclan was the last clan to arrive; and so once Owlstar had joined the other leaders on the giant tree stump in the middle of the clearing, Troutstar stepped forward to deliver his report. “Minnowclan is doing well,” he meowed. “Two of our queens, Rootpelt and Rosetail, have given birth to healthy litters. The streams are plentiful, and we haven’t had any border skirmishes with rogues. Additionally, we have two new apprentices—Hollowpaw and Onepaw.”

At that, the cats around Lynxpaw shifted, and began to chant the names; and Lynxpaw joined in, the voice of the clans swelling. “Hollowpaw! Onepaw! Hollowpaw! Onepaw!”

Once the voices died down, Troutpaw dipped his head and stepped back, allowing Owlstar to pad forward. “Birdclan is flourishing as well,” she said, voice carrying across the clearing, “and we have a new apprentice, Lynxpaw.” There, she paused to allow the clans to chant Lynxpaw’s name.

Among the sea of voices, Lynxpaw found herself humbled; and she dipped her head, ears twitching. After the voices died down, Owlstar continued. “However, my patrols have encountered multiple rogue scent marks in our territory, going towards Leopardclan territory. There are three of them, perhaps more—I advise that the other clans keep a watch out for them.”

Servalstar stepped forward. “Thank you, Owlstar,” she meowed. “I’m sure my warriors will be able to deal with any threat they may come across.”

For a moment, the two she-cats stared at each other unblinkingly, before Owlstar dipped her head and stepped back, allowing the powerfully-built leader to deliver her speech.

The cold night meant that the clans began to disperse soon after; and Lynxpaw slipped to Rainstep’s side. “May I take a detour to hunt on the way back?” she whispered. “I only managed a small catch of prey earlier today.”

Rainstep hummed, whiskers twitching, before she meowed, “Alright, just don’t stray too far.”

“I won’t,” Lynxpaw promised.

Keeping her paws light, she managed to catch two shrews and a vole; and began to trot back to camp when a speck of red caught her eye. “What…” she breathed, dropping her catch as she turned to take in the sight fully—an entire warren of rabbits, bloodied and ripped apart.

A second later, a small rabbit hopped out of the warren, covered in blood, and bared its teeth at her.

“Ancestors save me!” Lynxpaw shrieked, and hastily snatched her prey and fled back towards camp, the image of the bloodied rabbit burnt into her mind’s eye.


	4. chapter three

When she slunk back into camp, the moon had been hidden by the clouds; casting camp into darkness. The darkness, coupled with the terrifying site of the bloodied rabbit, made her uneasy; and so, when something brushed against her shoulder, she whipped around, a hiss curling from behind her teeth.

“Woah, woah!” Yarrowpaw yelped, leaping backwards, “it’s just me! By the Ancestors, Lynxpaw, what’s gotten into you?”

Lynxpaw took a few steadying breaths. “Nothing,” she meowed around the prey in her mouth. “Just saw some shadows, I guess.”

Yarrowpaw frowned. “Alright,” she said. “But if you want to talk…I’ll be here, okay?” 

“Thanks,” Lynxpaw murmured, stepping around the other she-cat to make her way to the prey pile, dropping the shrews and vole on top of the other prey. There was a sudden gust of cold wind, and Lynxpaw shivered. 

“You should probably eat,” Yarrowpaw meowed from behind her. “You haven’t eaten since sunhigh. Everyone else has already eaten since they got back from the Gathering.”

Lynxpaw grimaced. She didn’t want to eat, but… “You’re probably right,” she confessed, sighing; and then, on impulse: “would you like to share this vole? It’s a bit big,” she hastily added, “I don’t think I can eat it all myself.”

To her surprise, Yarrowpaw smiled. “Sure,” she said, and padded to Lynxpaw’s side when the silver she-cat carried the vole over to the camp wall. The two settled down together, the vole between them, and began to eat.

“You know,” Yarrowpaw said, after a few beats of silence, “you’re actually pretty nice to be around. When I first tried to talk to you when we were kits, you always seemed kind of standoffish, and I thought you were kind of mean.” She laughed self-consciously. “I guess I was just kind of an annoying kit, huh?”

Lynxpaw blinked, swallowing. “What? No, no,” she shook her head. “You weren’t annoying, I was just…lost in my own thoughts, I guess.”

The other she-cat hummed. “Still. I’m glad we got closer.”

Lynxpaw felt heat rise on her cheeks and ears. “Me too,” she said. When she tentatively met the white she-cat’s gaze, the other’s eyes were shining. Lynxpaw’s throat was tight; the silence between them heavy.

“Well,” Yarrowpaw looked down, clearing her throat. “We should probably finish up and get to sleep. Smoketalon said we have morning patrol again tomorrow, so we’ll have to be up early.”

“Ugh,” Lynxpaw groaned, and took a bite of vole; unable to concentrate on the richness of the meat any longer; the combination of the rabbit incident on the way back to camp and the information that she would have to get up before sunrise the next day weighing on her mind. “I swear, Smoketalon has it out for me—this is the fourth day I’ve morning patrol in ten days.”

Yarrowpaw made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “At least you’ll get to sleep in when you get back,” she pointed out. “No one would blame you for taking a nap.”

Lynxpaw sighed. “I guess,” she said, and finished up the rest of her portion of the vole, standing and stretching for a moment. 

The other finished up her own portion, standing as well. “Let’s get to sleep,” she said, “I put some feathers in your nest while you were gone, so you should sleep a bit better tonight.”

The tightness in Lynxpaw’s throat returned. “Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”

Yarrowpaw dipped her head silently; and lead Lynxpaw to the Apprentice’s Den. Falconpaw was already asleep, curled tightly in his own nest; and Yarrowpaw’s nest, normally closer to her brother’s, had been moved closer to Lynxpaw’s, which, as promised, had had feathers added to it.

With a wide yawn, Lynxpaw murmured “Good night” to Yarrowpaw, and curled into her own nest, and quickly drifted off into sleep.

_The shadows hid most of her surroundings; and Lynxpaw squinted into the darkness. “Hello?” she called, “is anyone there?”_

_From the depth of the forest, voices began to chant quietly; and a large, dark-furred she-cat padded out from behind a tree; leaping up onto a large boulder. Lynxpaw looked at the base of the boulder and gasped._

_There, the bodies of her clanmates and some cats she recognised from the Gathering lay bloodied and scarred; and the dark she-cat suddenly met Lynxpaw’s gaze, and her lips pulled into a wide, wolfish sneer._

_Lynxpaw stumbled back, heart beating rabbit-fast, fear and terror rising in her throat as she tried to flee._

_In the background, the chanting grew; and finally, Lynxpaw made out the words:_ Long live the Captain!


	5. chapter four

The next morning, however, as they padded along the now-familiar morning patrol path, Lynxpaw still couldn’t get the image of the rabbit out of her head. The nightmare from the night before hardly helped matters; not only was it terrifying, it left her feeling on edge and exhausted; enough that Rainstep halted halfway on the patrol to check on her.

“I’m fine,” Lynxpaw dismissed halfheartedly, forcing back a wide yawn, eyes heavy. “Just a little sleepy, is all.”

Rainstep hummed; a frown curling at her lips; but didn’t push the matter; for which Lynxpaw thanked the Ancestors. It wasn’t a conversation she particularly wanted to have, and she cringed at the idea of having to have it. Hopefully, it would just go away.

The word kept bouncing around her head, though—Captain. _What could it mean?_ she wondered, as she sniffed the air for foreign scents, and renewed the boundary markers. She’d never heard a word like it before—it sounded a bit like the fish some of the Minnnowclan apprentices had been talking about at the Gathering, something called carp. But something about the word made her think that it wasn’t the name of any type of prey.

There was a loud meow. “Lynxpaw! Hurry up!”

Lynxpaw startled; looking up to find the rest of the patrol had already gotten a few foxlengths ahead of her. “Sorry!” she called back, “I’ll be right there!”

The other cat they were patrolling with—Willowsong, a lithe, dark tabby—grumbled something beneath his breath that Lynxpaw was too far away to hear. Yarrowpaw grimaced and shot her a sympathetic look.

Feeling slightly guilty about holding up the patrol, Lynxpaw hastened her step; before stopping suddenly, the scent of prey thick in her mouth. She flicked her tail to signal to the rest of the patrol, and then lowered her head.

There! The heady scent of a vole drifted beneath her, and she saw the entrance of a burrow, and a small tail. Crouching, she took a few careful, quiet steps forward, and then pounced.

The vole was warm in her mouth; and gave an aborted squeak as Lynxpaw snapped its neck, thanking the Ancestors for the kill, before she trotted back to the patrol.

“Well done,” Rainstep murmured, with a dip of her head. “You may add it to the prey pile when we return.”

Lynxpaw beamed at the quiet acknowledgement. It wasn’t much from an outsider’s view, but over the past few moons of her apprenticeship, Lynxpaw had learnt that her mentor was one who gave subtle nods of pride rather than stating it outright.

They marked the rest of the scent-markers; Yarrowpaw was lucky enough to catch a sparrow on their way back, and she had grinned and winked at Lynxpaw, whispering, “Now we’re even.”

For reasons Lynxpaw couldn’t fully understand, the words had made her face heat up, and she flicked her ears, embarrassed, and ducked her head.

When they got back to camp, Lynxpaw deposited her vole onto the prey pile; and glanced around, hoping that Yarrowpaw was somewhere close at hand.

Unfortunately, though, since entering the camp, the other had disappeared; and Lynxpaw couldn’t spot her white-flecked coat anywhere.

In her search, though, her gaze landed on the Elder’s den, where Tawnyear was sunning herself; and an idea began to form. Quickly, she picked up the vole she had just set down and trotted over to the small she-cat.

“Tawnyear,” she greeted, “can I ask you a question?”

The short-tailed tortie opened an eye lazily. Nervous, Lynxpaw set the vole down before her, hoping the bribe would work. Apparently, the other saw right through her; because she chuckled. “You didn’t have to go to that trouble, Lynxpaw,” she said, “I’d answer your question anyway. But thank you for the vole.”

“Of course,” Lynxpaw murmured, and settled down, tail wrapping around her paws as she waited for the other to finish her meal.

Swallowing the last of it in a few quick bites, the elder cocked her head, taking the younger she-cat in. “What is it you want to know?” she asked.

“It’s about a word,” Lynxpaw said, and then hesitated. “Do you…do you know what ‘captain’ means?”

“Captain? Where did you hear that word?” the other asked sharply; all laziness evaporating from her frame; muscles tensing as if ready to run. Lynxpaw took a step back; tail fluffing up.

“Just something another apprentice at the Gathering said, I swear! I just…I wanted to know what it meant.” The lie tumbled out easily; but she couldn’t exactly reveal the truth—it would make her sound mad.

The she-cat calmed slightly; tattered ears lifting from where they had been flattened against her skull. “It means leader,” she said, after a long beat. “Moons ago, there was a group of rogues who attacked the clan—they didn’t have any name that I know of, but they called their leader ‘Captain’.” She paused, sighing, gaze flicking to the ground. “They managed to kill Minnowclan’s old leader, Perchstar, and nearly invade the forest before the clans banded together to drive them out. It was a long time ago—I’m surprised the apprentices knew.”

“They were Minnowclan apprentices, I think,” Lynxpaw said, “I didn’t hear what they were saying, just that one word.”

“Ah.” Tawnyear huffed a laugh. “And you came to me to snoop. Young’ns—you’re all the same. Well,” she stretched, “better run along and get to your friends.”

“Thank you, Tawnyear,” Lynxpaw said. “I’ll do that.”

For a moment, she felt bad about the lies she had told the elder; but the prospect of trying to explain the truth had seemed far too daunting; and she couldn’t bring herself to truly regret it. _Ancestors help me_ , she thought, _but I won’t be doing it again. I swear it._

As she looked up, she caught sight of Yarrowpaw; meeting the other’s gaze; and at the other’s open expression, found herself smiling as she trotted over.

“Hey,” Yarrowpaw said, “do you want to go hunting together? I saw your pounce with the vole earlier—that was pretty impressive.”

“What, you want to study me so I don’t outshine you?” Lynxpaw teased; but added, “sure, let me just check with Rainstep.”

The other nodded. “I’ll be waiting right outside the camp,” she meowed.

Lynxpaw found her mentor after a few moments of searching; and Rainstep agreed without a beat of hesitation. “Thank you!” Lynxpaw called, before she raced off to where Yarrowpaw was waiting.


	6. chapter five

Later that day, Rainstep poked her head into the apprentice’s den. It took a few moments for Lynxpaw, who had been chatting with Yarrowpaw, to notice her mentor, so caught up in the conversation was she. 

Rainstep cleared her throat. “Lynxpaw,” she called.

Lynxpaw’s head shot up; and her whiskers twitched with embarrassment. “Yes, Rainstep?” she asked. 

“Snowbreeze and I have decided that it would be a good idea for you and Falconpaw to get some battle practice, what with the rogues’ scents that patrols are still finding,” the she-cat meowed, “come along—I said we’d meet them in the Hollow at sunhigh.”

Lynxpaw frowned. “Sunhigh? But it’s not even—oh,” she cut herself off. “I must have lost track of time.”

Yarrowpaw, by her side, let out a huff of laughter. “Go on, Lynxpaw,” she said, nudging the silver apprentice’s hindleg, “go have some fun. Tell me how it goes when you get back, okay? I haven’t heard anything new in _ages._ ”

“I will,” Lynxpaw promised, rising, and trotted over to her mentor’s side. “Are you really going to let me practice battle moves?” she whispered. She’d only practiced them a few times—Rainstep had always said that, with the clans being at peace as they were, there wasn’t much of a need. 

Rainstep nodded. “It never hurts to be prepared,” she said, and turned, tail flicking, and stepped out of the den. Lynxheart followed after her. 

The mention of battle, though, brought back to her mind the tale Tawnyear had told her the day before; and the longer she thought about it, the deeper she fell into worry; worry that the rogues who had been scented were the same rogues who had attacked so many moons ago, and that they would return.

“—Lynxpaw!”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

Rainstep let out an exasperated sigh; obviously, she had already repeated herself a few times, and was starting to get frustrated. “I said, demonstrate a flip,” she said. “Claws away, remember—you don’t want to accidentally hurt Falconpaw.”

“I think we should let them train with their claws out,” Snowbreeze countered. “It would be good experience.”

Rainstep glared at the younger tom. “You may be willing to risk your apprentice’s safety,” she said tartly, “but I am not. We have too few apprentices already, and having one of them incapacitated is the opposite of what we need.”

For a few moments, Lynxpaw was afraid they might start caterwauling, but the calico tom finally sneered, “Fine,” and stalked a few paces away to speak with Falconpaw.

Lynxpaw turned to Rainstep. “With or without a throat bite?” she asked. 

“Without. We’ll work up to that,” Rainstep replied.

Lynxpaw nodded, and stepped down into the Hollow; the sand shifting slightly beneath her paws. A moment later, Falconpaw joined her; the tom’s dappled coat lighter in the sunlight, his grey eyes blank and betraying nothing.

“Begin!” Snowbreeze called.

And with that, the two apprentices began circling each other; hissing and spitting, ears drawn back; each eyeing the other to try and find an opening. Finally, tired of waiting, Lynxpaw lept forward, trying to barrel the tom over.

Falconpaw, however, had the advantage of size, and after a few seconds, managed to flip their positions so he was on top; and Lynxpaw had to kick his soft underbelly to keep his teeth from grasping at her shoulder.

An extended struggle later, Lynxpaw finally found an opening; and, with all of her might, headbutted the other apprentice; sending him reeling, and flipped herself up and onto his back, biting carefully into his shoulder.

“Submit!” she meowed, muffled by his fur.

“To a halfclaner like you?” he panted, sneer audible in his voice. “Never!”

She bit down harder; careful not to draw blood. “Submit!” she repeated, managing to pin him down with her full weight, straining to keep him against the ground. “Falconpaw—”

With a growl, he bucked her off. The unexpected force sent her flying across the Hollow, head hitting a rock with a painful thud. She let out a yowl of pain, blinded for a moment; but that was all the respite she got, for a moment later, Falconpaw was on her.

They struggled, Lynxpaw doing her best to hold her own against the larger tom, and as her vision cleared, the shadow of him made him look like the cat from her dreams; and she froze.

The momentary distraction was enough for Falconpaw to lunge forward and bite her throat.

For a moment, fear bubbled up in her chest; terror making him seem even larger and more like the shadowed cat, and a cry rose in her throat; a second later, she realised that he wasn’t biting hard enough to injur her, but by then, Rainstep had come barelling down, ripping the apprentice off of her. “What in the Ancestor’s name were you thinking?” she snapped at him, tone heavy with anger. “You know we don’t use the throat bite in training!”

“But Snowbreeze said…”

“I’ll be having a _word_ with him,” Rainstep growled, releasing the tom, and stalked back up the side of the Hollow and over the ridge to were the other mentor was standing.

“I didn’t even hurt you,” Falconpaw grumbled. Lynxpaw didn’t reply; too busy wheezing and trying to catch her breath, for her throat seemed to have tightened and she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

Finally, she managed to breathe evenly again; and readjusted her stance. “Rainstep?” she called, “do you want us to go again?”

Rainstep turned her head. “Come her. I want to talk to you first.”

“Alright,” Lynxpaw replied, and made her way to her mentor’s side.

“Falconpaw shouldn’t have done that,” the she-cat said. “But I saw you freeze up—is your head still in the clouds from earlier, Lynxpaw?” Her tone was admonishing; and Lynxpaw wondered what it was she could have done wrong.

She shook her head. “No, I just…” she hesitated. She could tell her mentor, right? She was supposed to trust Rainstep—surely Rainstep wouldn’t just think it was a nightmare. “I’ve been having visions,” she confessed, finally. “Horrible ones, of a shadowed forest and cats’ skulls and a huge she-cat—”

“You’re out of sorts because of a _nightmare?_ ” Rainstep was incredulous. 

“They didn’t feel like nightmares,” Lynxpaw protested. “I think the Ancestors are trying to tell me something—I think the rogues we keep scenting on patrols are going to come and try and take over the clans again. Tawnyear told me that rogues came moons ago and tried to do that—”

Rainstep cuffed her over the ear. “Do you _hear_ yourself?” she exclaimed. “Elders’ tales and nightmares and conjecture—I thought you were better than this! And only healers have visions, Lynxpaw, this was a _nightmare_. I can’t believe that you’ve been out of sorts over a _nightmare!_ ”

Lynxpaw’s heart sunk. “…oh,” she murmured. “You’re…yeah, you’re probably right. I’m sorry, Rainstep, I’ll try harder to keep my head on my shoulders.”

“Good,” Rainstep said. “Now get back into the Hollow and show me a proper mock battle.”

“Yes Rainstep,” she said, trying not to sound to miserable—after all, her mentor was probably right. She was probably just being paranoid, that was all. Still, it stung to hear her worries dismissed so carelessly.

She shook her head. She had said she’d try and keep herself in the moment, and she intended to stick to it. 

Lynxpaw took a deep breath, and bounded over the ridge and back into the Hollow to face Falconpaw once again.


	7. chapter six

Leafbare had come; the mornings seeing the grass stiff and cold with frost; and as Lynxpaw padded along the ground, her breath created white clouds before her, obscuring her vision for a moment—unfortunate, given that she was trying to hunt prey.

It was finally the day of her assessment; the last step on her path to becoming a warrior of the clan, and Lynxpaw was desperate to prove herself—her clanmates had never been particularly fond of her, but after Falconpaw, who had overheard her conversation with Rainstep, had let it slip “accidentally” at a gathering, she had been treated as more of a pariah than usual; the only one willing to talk to her much anymore was Yarrowpaw—Rainstep had withdrawn slightly, possibly irritated by Lynxpaw’s unfounded worry. 

None of the clan knew what, exactly, they had been arguing about, for which Lynxpaw was glad, but that hardly stopped them from avoiding her.

Lynxpaw shook her head; trying to banish the thoughts like water sliding off a leaf; she needed to concentrate.

Keeping her paw-steps light, she made her way out of the heather and onto the open plain; the wind whistling around her; twisting at her fur and whisker. She strained, trying to hear the tell-tale patter of feet that would indicate prey skittering about the grass; but the noise of the wind made it nigh impossible.

Frustrated, she flattened her ears; hissing in annoyance. “Ancestors help me,” she muttered, and drew in a deep breath; concentrating.

There! The scent of a hare—she couldn’t believe her luck; this late in the season, they usually stayed underground; but it seemed that, for once, things were going her way.

She followed the scent until she caught sight of the long, white-speckled ears of her prey twitching side to side. Now, it was important that she stayed downwind from it, and kept her step light—the hare would be able to hear the sound of her pawsteps if she wasn’t incredibly careful.

Creeping as deftly as she was able to, Lynxpaw made her way slowly towards the hare. Between them was a patch of still-frosted grass; she would have to be extremely careful if she wanted to be able to pull this off.

Ignoring the slight ache the position gave her, she kept herself mere mouselengths off the ground; careful that her fur didn’t brush the grass.

Finally, she was a foxlength away. In her head, she counted as Rainstep had taught her; matching her pawsteps to the tempo of the numbers.  _ Five. Four. Three. Two. One— _

Silently, Lynxpaw leapt; pinning the hare to the ground and sinking her teeth into its neck; twisting it as quickly as she could; the motion resulting in a loud crack. There was no time for the hare to struggle or even let out a cry of terror; its eyes simply dimmed from their normally bright state to the dull, matte of death.

Lynxpaw pulled back; dropping the hare; and licked her lips to clean her muzzle. “Thank you,” she murmured to the ground; imagining the hundreds of Ancestors running beneath the earth. The image filled her mind, the knowledge that her kin was close warming her even with the cold gusts blowing around her.

With a start, she remembered the assessment; and, quickly, buried the hare to return to later—it was only her first catch, after all, and if she wanted to pass the assessment and become a warrior, she would have to catch more than just one piece of prey.

Around sunhigh, she had caught six pieces of prey in total, including the hare—three mice, a vole, and a small shrew; and, with the winds picking up speed, she decided that it was probably alright to call it good.

Prey tucked under her chin, Lynxpaw began to make her way back to the Hollow, where the assessment had begun.

Suddenly, a rustle caught her attention; and Lynxpaw froze, twitching her ears. She tried to see if she could scent whatever it was, but with prey so close to her face, it was impossible to decipher the scent.

She unsheathed her claws, preparing to spin around and leap—

“Woah!” came a familiar voice, and a cat tumbled forward, prey falling to the ground. Yarrowpaw. Lynxpaw relaxed.

“Careful there,” she mewed warmly, as Yarrowpaw, ears twitching with annoyance, rose; picking up her own prey.

“You didn’t see anything,” Yarrowpaw grumbled, tucking her prey beneath her chin. “Are you on your way back to the Hollow?”

Lynxpaw nodded. “It’s getting a bit too windy to try and hunt any more,” she replied. 

Yarrowpaw hummed. “I hope Falconpaw isn’t having too hard a time,” she murmured. “I saw him hare off towards Minnowclan territory, and it’s always harder hunting that way.”

At the mention of the other apprentice, Lynxpaw winced. Since their training session in the Hollow, Falconpaw had been more standoffish towards her—never going as far as to physically attack her, but some times, Lynxpaw had been afraid that they might get into a scuffle in camp.

Yarrowpaw noticed. “I’m sorry about him,” she said, “he’s just...he’s just petty, is all. He likes winning and he lords it over everyone.”

“It’s fine,” Lynxpaw brushed off. “Let’s just get back to the Hollow.”

The rest of the trip was silent; and when they got there, their mentors greeted them. For the first time in many days, Rainstep’s eyes held a proud glint as she glanced over her apprentice’s catch. “Well done, Lynxpaw,” she meowed, “you may take your catch back to camp. After that, you may choose a piece from the prey pile and eat—you’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, Rainstep,” Lynxpaw replied, and brushed her nose with her mentor’s before picking up the prey she had set down and trotting back towards the camp. 

A while later, Yarrowpaw and Falconpaw returned as well; depositing their own prey on the pile, and picking a piece each. Lynpaw, who had already begun to eat the shrew she had selected, watched the two of them settle together on the opposite side of camp and share a plump vole.

As the sun began to lower, Owlstar stepped out of her den. “Let all cats old enough to roam the moors gather beneath the Highrock!” she called.

A spark of excitement shot through Lynxpaw. This was it—she was finally going to be a warrior.

Cats began to emerge from their dens; gathering beneath the Highrock. Owlstar waited until everyone had gathered before she began to speak. “Today, I have the honour of making new apprentices, and new warriors,” she meowed. “Firstly, I would like Greykit, Softkit, and Mosskit to please step forward.”

The three kits burst from their mother’s side, scampering up to the base of the Highrock. Owlstar lept down. “Greykit,” she mewed, “from now on, you will be known as Greypaw; your mentor will be Meadowleap. Meadowleap, I pray you pass on your courage to this apprentice.”

The newly-made apprentice touched noses with her mentor; eyes brimming with joy. The expression reminded Lynxpaw of her own apprentice ceremony with a pang of nostalgia.

Shortly, Greypaw’s siblings had become apprentices as well; Softpaw’s mentor was Fincheye, and Mosspaw’s was Oaktail. The clan raised their voices, chanting the apprentices’ names. “Greypaw! Softpaw! Mosspaw! Greypaw! Softpaw! Mosspaw!”

After the chanting died down, Owlstar cleared her throat. “Now, it with the power vested in me by the Ancestors, I call Yarrowpaw to step forward and receive her warriorname.”

Yarrowpaw padded forward.

“From this day forth,” Owlstar began, “you will be known as Yarrowflight, for your swift step and mind.”

She touched Yarrowflight’s cheek with her nose; and Yarrowflight licked her leader’s shoulder, before pulling back.

“Yarrowflight!” Lynxpaw called, unable to help herself; and a moment later, the clan joined in. 

“Yarrowflight! Yarrowflight! Yarrowflight!”

Next, Falconpaw became Falconstep; and then it was Lynxpaw’s turn.

Practically floating, chest brimming with pride, she stepped forward. “Lynxpaw,” Owlstar meowed, “from this day forth, for your kindness, you will be known as Lynxheart.”

Her nose was warm against Lynxheart’s cheek; and Lynxheart licked her shoulder before pulling back; and after a beat, the clan began to chant her name. “Lynxheart! Lynxheart! Lynxheart!”

Bursting with pride, Lynxheart retreated back among the clan, and found herself at Yarrowflight’s side. “Congratulations,” murmured the yellow she-cat; her eyes sparkling, “Lyxheart.”

Lynxheart’s lips twitched. “And you too, Yarrowflight,” she returned; brushing alongside the she-cat as she made her way to the camp’s entrance to begin her vigil.


	8. chapter seven

Lynxheart yawned widely, resisting the urge to shake herself; her fur was cold, and her paws prickled from lack of movement; but she knew by the blue on the edge of the horizon that sunrise was soon to come, and she knew she could make it.

By her side, Yarrowflight stood her own vigil; looking every part the proud warrior, Lynxheart noted warmly. The she-cat was someone Lynxheart could never quite figure out, but she was glad for the friendship that had sprung up between them.

Finally, the sun began to rise; and Lynxheart peered at the horizon, welcoming the warmth the sun gave—or, at least, she did, until the horizon turned red and began to bleed. For a moment, Lynxheart couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing, but then her hackles raised; the blood dripping over the horizon making terror rise in her heart. Ignoring her friend’s questioning meow, she fled the camp.

After a while, her terror finally wore off; and she found herself on the high moor, the wind whipping around her, making her shiver. When she looked up, the sun had risen above the horizon, and there was nothing amiss. She felt suddenly foolish, and hung her head.

Lynxheart padded back to camp shamefacedly; glad that almost none of her clanmates were awake to witness her return with her tail tucked between her legs.

“Lynxheart!” called a familiar voice. “You’re back! Oh, I was so worried...”

Yarrowflight; Lynxheart’s shame grew.  _ I can’t believe you made your friend worry!  _ she scolded herself; and schooled her expression into one that didn’t reek of terror. “Yeah, I’m back,” she meowed, “sorry I took off without warning.”

“It’s fine,” Yarrowflight assured. “But are you alright? You looked pretty scared—like you had seen a ghost!”

“I...” her excuses died in her throat; and she sighed. “Do you have to be on patrol this morning?” she asked, instead, and Yarrowflight shook her head. “Alright. Let’s go hunting. There’s something I need to tell you, but I can’t say it here.”

Yarrowflight frowned; but finally, she said, “Okay,” and padded towards the entrance to camp. Lynxheart followed behind her, out of the shelter of camp and onto the open moor.

Once they had gotten sufficiently far from camp, Lynxheart took a deep breath. “I’ve been having visions,” she confessed, “of someone killing clan cats—it started as nightmares, but this morning, the sun turned to blood, and I—I was terrified. I fled.”

“Killing clan cats?” Yarrowflight frowned. “But there hasn’t been a threat to the clans in moons!”

Lynxheart nodded. “I know, I know, but with the rogue scents we keep finding...and a while ago, one of my dreams mentioned the word ‘captain’—I asked Tawnyear what it meant, and she said that, moons ago, a cat calling himself Captain lead a group of cats who came to try and take over the forest. They managed to kill the last leader of Birdclan, Perchstar...” 

“Oh,” Yarrowflight murmured, pressing closer to her, “Oh, Lynxheart...no wonder you were so scared. I’m so sorry that happened—” Suddenly, her eyes went wide. “Do you smell that?” she hissed.

“Unfamiliar scent?” Lynxheart hissed back.

The other nodded. “It must be a rogue,” she whispered. “Let’s turn on three. One...two...three—”

In tandem, they whirled around, leaping at the knot of heather. There was a loud yowl. “Hey!” a voice protested, “careful! Your claws are sharp!”

The figure emerged from the heather; a tall, broad, grey and white she-cat, her eyes a dark, rich brown. “You clan cats are always so touchy,” she muttered.

“And you’re trespassing,” Yarrowflight hissed, claws still out; and she bared her teeth. Lynxheart followed suit. “Either leave, or we’ll capture you and escort you back to camp, and Owlstar can decide what to do with you.”

The she-cat snorted. “No way,” she huffed, “I’m not letting some mangy newborn like  _ you _ take me, Captain Ashwind, hostage.”

Lynxheart and Yarrowflight both froze. “ _ Captain? _ ” Lynxheart said, slowly, and exchanged a glance with Yarrowflight.

“That’s it,” Yarrowflight said, “we’re definitely taking you back to camp. Lynxheart—”

Lynxheart, already knowing what she was about to ask, leapt at the large she-cat; trying to pin her, teeth scrabbling at the scruff around her neck. Yarrowflight joined her a moment later. Unfortunately, Ashwind was much larger, and she bucked the both of them off and hissed, “Foxhearts!” before fleeing in the opposite direction.

Winded, Lynxheart rose from where she had been tossed to the ground, and met gazes with Yarrowflight. “She called herself Captain,” Yarrowflight said, grimly. “I think you might be right—those are visions. We have to tell Bird.”

“Bird?” Lynxheart recoiled at the name of the healer. “No way—he’ll never believe me!”

The other shook her head. “No, he will,” she assured, “I’ll vouch for you—he’s my uncle, he’ll believe me even if he finds it a bit incredible. You don’t have to come with me,” she said, catching Lynxheart’s worried expression, “but I need to tell him.”

“...alright,” Lynxheart conceded, finally. “You do what you have to. But I’m not going to go to him myself—I’ve already had Rainstep call me harebrained for entertaining the idea that they might be visions. I don’t need someone else to rebuke me as well.”

“I don’t think he will,” Yarrowflight said, but her tone was resigned; she wasn’t going to push it. For that, Lynxheart was glad—as much as she cared for the other she-cat, that would have been enough to make her lose trust in her.

With a sigh, Yarrowflight turned back towards camp. “We should tell Smoketalon we ran into a rogue,” she meowed, “he’ll want to increase patrols.”

Lynxheart nodded. “You’re right,” she said, and then, feeling slightly bad for having been snippy a moment before: “I’ll tell him, and you can talk to Bird.”

“Alright,” Yarrowflight said; and with that decision, they padded back towards camp, the sun rising above them, casting a feeble blanket of warmth over them; its light weak in the cold weather.


	9. chapter eight

Half a moon later, Lynxheart was taking a nap in the warriors’ den when there was a rustle; the heather entrance being pushed through by a stocky form. Lynxheart tried to ignore it; rolling over to bury herself deeper into her nest; but a moment later, there was a whispered “Lynxheart!”

Lynxheart stretched; eyes cracking to find the sandy form of Bird, the clan healer, at the edge of her nest. Startled, she scrambled to her paws. “Yes?” she asked; hoping that her fur wasn’t unpresentable. She hadn’t seen Bird more than a few times in her life, and something about the tom made her want to be on her best behaviour.

Bird shook his head. “Not in here,” he murmured, turning around, “follow me.” With that, he disappeared back through the heather. After a moment, Lynxheart followed him. The tom lead her out of camp, and then doubled back around. 

Lynxheart frowned. “Why are we behind the dirtplace?”

Bird didn’t reply; just nosed around for a few moments, and then—disappeared. It took a few seconds for Lynxheart to realise that he had actually wriggled into a tunnel next to the back of the dirtplace. “Are you coming, or...?” came the tom’s voice; echoing, and Lynxheart hastened to follow him.

“Why all the secrecy?” she grumbled. “What’s so important we can’t talk about it in camp?”

“It’s just not done,” the other replied primply; and finally stopped. They were in a large cave, and a small stream trickled by. Lynxheart tried not to gape in awe. “The visions you’ve been having,” Bird prompted.

Oh. Right. Yarrowflight had said she would tell Bird. 

So, confident that, if nothing else, the tom wouldn’t call her moon-addled, Lynxheart explained everything; the visions, Tawnyear’s story, and the run-in with the rogue—Captain Ashwind. As she spoke, Bird’s frown grew deeper and deeper; his whiskers twitching in agitation. 

Finally, he spoke. “I think you might be right,” he said; and then, hesitantly, “recently, my connection—all the healers’ connections, really—with the Ancestors has been...muddled, and what I have been getting has been distress and rumblings of trouble. I wonder if something’s stoping them from communicating with us, and that’s why you’re getting visions instead.”

Relief coursed through Lynxheart; so the tom wasn’t going to dismiss her visions. The knowledge brought her comfort. But— “What about the Captain?” she asked. “And, and Tawnyear’s story? Do you think it might...happen again?”

“History repeating itself?” Bird’s expression was grim. “I’m afraid that it’s probably very likely.”

The pronouncement chilled her. “Then what are we going to do?” she asked.

“I’ll speak with Smoketalon,” Bird replied. “We can increase the patrols, and make sure Owlstar has a guard—I’ll also travel to the other clans to speak with their healers, and explain our fears. Hopefully, forewarning will give us the advantage. But other than that...all we can do is wait, I’m afraid.”

“Great,” Lynxheart said, sarcastically; and then sighed. “Sorry, I’m just...worried.”

“That’s more than understandable. But now, let’s get out of here—I think the walls are going to choke me.” He shuddered; and led the way out of the tunnels and back into the fresh air.

It was just as well that they got out when they did; because as they returned to camp, Owlstar’s voice sounded loudly. “Let all cats old enough to roam the moors gather for a clan meeting!” she called.

Bird and Lynxheart hastened to enter the camp and take their places beneath the Highrock. Lynxheart wondered what the meeting was about; she couldn’t think of any reason—at least, not until she saw Yarrowflight, standing near the base of the Highrock, and the pride shining in her eyes.

A few moments later, her suspicion was confirmed. “Mirrorkit,” Owlstar called, “please step forward.”

The half tortoiseshell kit bounded forward; bursting at the seams. “From this day forth, you shall be known as Mirrorpaw,” the leader intoned. “Your mentor will be Yarrowflight. Yarrowflight, I hope you pass on your kindness and hunting skills to this apprentice.”

With that, she stepped aside, letting the two touch noses; and the clan burst into cheers, chanting, “Mirrorpaw! Mirrorpaw! Mirrorpaw!”

After a while, the chanting died down; and the cats dispersed back to their dens and tasks. Lynxheart padded over to the pair. “Congratulations,” she meowed; and to Mirrorpaw, “you couldn’t have a better mentor than Yarrowflight.”

Yarrowflight’s ears flattened slightly in embarrassment. “You flatter me,” she said; but their was a note of pride in her voice. To Mirrorpaw, she said, “I’ll do my best to live up to that claim.”

Mirrorpaw was looking at Yarrowflight with unabashed awe. “I’m sure you will,” Lynxheart said, as the she-cat seemed too starstruck to speak. 

“I was thinking about training for hunting,” Yarrowflight said, “Lynxheart, you’ve always been better at your hunting moves that than me—would you help me?”

“Of course,” Lynxheart said, smiling.


	10. chapter nine

The three cats loped across the moors; Yarrowflight and Lynxheart slowing their pace so that Mirrorpaw could keep up. The wind whipped their fur, and for a moment, Lynxpaw caught a glimpse of Yarrowflight with her fur blown forward into her face, and had to stifle a laugh.

“What?” Yarrowflight asked, noticing her mirth, and Lynxheart merely shook her head, unable to answer while trying to keep in the peels of laughter.

Finally, they arrived at the Hollow; the larger trees and the walls of the pit protecting them from the howling winds, and Yarrowflight turned to Mirrorpaw. “Alright,” she said, “you’ve play-hunted, right?” When Mirrorpaw nodded, she continued. “I want you to show me your best hunting crouch.”

“Okay,” Mirrorpaw mumbled, and awkwardly dropped down onto her hindlegs, tucking her front paws beneath her. 

Yarrowflight shook her head. “Shift your weight forward some,” she instructed, “you want to have your weight evenly distributed, otherwise you’ll make too much noise, and your prey will hear you coming foxlengths off.”

Mirrorpaw nodded, expression one of intense concentration, and adjusted her position; shifting her weight forward. “Okay,” Yarrowflight said, “now, I want you to pretend that I’m a vole, and stalk me, alright? I’ll stand over here.” She padded her way to the other side of the Hollow, and then called to Lynxheart, “I won’t be able to see her with my back turned, so I want you to instruct her, alright?”

“Alright,” Lynxheart replied, and nodded to Mirrorpaw. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Mirrorpaw hesitated for a moment, before carefully padding forward. For a few moment, her gait was almost perfect—then, her tail, flicking from side to side, brushed a twig in front of her path, and she stepped on it with a loud crack. Lynxheart saw Yarrowflight wince. 

She cleared her throat. “You’ve got almost everything right,” she praised the apprentice, “but you need to remember your tail—it’s an extension of you just as much as your legs or head. Or, at least,” she added wryly, “it should be.”

“It’s okay,” Yarrowflight assured the she-cat, “I don’t expect you to get it perfect the first time.”

“You actually did better than either of us did at first,” Lynxheart added with a small laugh. “Try again—remember, this time, make sure you stay aware of your tail.”

Mirrorpaw nodded. “Okay,” she said, sounding a bit more confident, and fell back onto her haunches for a moment before dropping back into position, carefully raising her tail so that it didn’t brush the ground accidentally.

After a few more tries, Yarrowflight turned around, padding over to Mirrorpaw’s side. “You’ve really improved,” she praised the apprentice, “we’ll try a few more positions, and then I’ll have Lynxheart take you hunting—I’d go myself but I have sunhigh patrol today.”

“Alright,” Mirrorpaw said, brightly, “what’s next?”

Yarrowflight and Lynxheart exchanged a glance, and then laughed. 

After a few more rounds of demonstration and practice, they decided to wrap up the training session. “Alright,” Yarrowflight said, “I’m going to get going back to camp to join the patrol. Thanks for your help, Lynxheart,” she murmured as she brushed past, rubbing her cheek against Lynxheart’s. 

Lynxheart’s heart felt fit to burst, and she barely mumbled out, “Of course.”

After a few moments passed, Mirrorpaw pipped up, “Lynxheart?”

“Huh? Yeah?” Lyxnheart replied, “is there something wrong?”

Mirrorpaw shook her head. “You just seemed kind of lost in your thoughts,” she replied. Lynxheart felt her ears heat.

“Oh. Uh. Right.” She shook her head and yawned widely. “Sorry about that. Let’s get going before all the prey heads to bed, and you can put your new hunting moves into practice.”

That made Mirrorpaw brighten. “Okay!” She bounded up the path out of the Hollow, disappearing over the crest for a moment before her head popped back up. “You coming?”

Lynxheart laughed. “Young’uns,” she muttered to herself, feeling suddenly as if possessed by the spirit of an elder, and then called, “just a second!” and began to pad her way out of the Hollow. 

They spent a good hour or two hunting; and over the course of it, Lynxheart watched as Mirrorpaw steadily improve in her hunting abilities. By the time the sun had begun to set, they had netted three shrews and a few birds between them, two of the three shrews courtesy of Mirrorpaw.

“Good job,” Lynxheart praised the she-cat, “you’ve done really well. I’ll make sure to tell Yarrowflight.”

At the mention of her mentor, the other went slightly starry-eyed, and squeaked, “Thanks!”

Lynxheart let out an amused purr. “You’ll get used to her eventually,” she assured the she-cat, and lead the way to where they had buried the rest of their prey. After digging it up, they made their way slowly but surely towards camp.

When they got through the entrance, the camp was in chaos. Cats were running pell-mell, and Bird was shouting, directing two warriors to bring the body of a yellow and white she-cat into his den.  _ Yarrowflight! _ Lynxheart realised, her heart dropping, fear coursing through her being. Quickly, she dropped her prey on the prey pile, and rushed to the healer’s den.

“Yarrowflight!” she called, voice high with anxiety, and one of the two warriors—Meadowleap, she vaguely registered, came to her side.

“She’s going to be alright,” the she-cat meowed. “She just has a few head wounds—that’s why she’s bleeding so much.”

Lynxheart let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Ancestors,” she murmured.

A moment later, the trailing ferns parted, and Owlstar entered. “What happened?” she demanded, turning to Meadowleap. 

Meadowleap’s whiskers twitched. “We were ambushed by two rogues,” she meowed. “We managed to fight them off, but they got the better of Yarrowflight at the start, and gave Fincheye a nasty gash.”

“What did they look like, do you remember?”

Meadowleap shook her head. 

Fincheye, who had lain down in a nest, spoke. “I do,” the golden tom said. “One was a large, dark she-cat. The other one was smaller and a grey and black tom.”

Bird, who had been tending to him, froze. “Owlstar,” he said, gravely, “I fear that these rogues may be connected to the rogue Lynxheart and Yarrowflight apprehended last moon.”

Owlstar’s gaze sharpened. “That makes sense,” she said. “They must have been aiming to kill me to destabilise the clan, but mistook Yarrowflight for me.”

Lynxheart shuddered. Meadowleap spoke again. “Surely not,” she meowed, “there must be a better explanation...that seems like such a leap.”

Bird shook his head. “No, I think that Owlstar’s right. Just last night I received a dream from the Ancestors warning me that something grave was about to happen,” he said, grimly, silencing any hint of doubt that had been within them.


	11. chapter ten

There was a long beat of silence, and Lynxheart found herself waiting, heart in her throat, for someone to speak. Finally, Bird meowed, “Meadowleap, can you go fetch Smoketalon? Let him know what’s happened, and tell him I need to speak with him.”

Meadowleap nodded, and exited the den, leaving it less crowded. Owlstar made as if to leave, but Bird glared at the leader, and, cowed, the she-cat found a spot in one of empty alcoves in the rock face to settle down. Bird turned to Lynxheart. “Hold these cobwebs for me,” he instructed, passing the she-cat the aforementioned cobwebs. 

Lyxheart took them, watching as the healer took out some herbs from his store and crushed them between his teeth, before spreading the poultice across Fincheye’s injury. The tom let out a pained hiss, and Lynxheart winced in sympathy.

“Cobwebs,” Bird ordered, and Lyxheart passed them to him. The tom wrapped them around the warrior’s leg, securing the herbs.

He repeated the process with Yarrowflight’s major wounds as well. By that point, the she-cat had begun to rouse, and asked, “What’s going on?”

“We were ambushed,” Fincheye meowed, “you hit your head on a rock pretty hard when you were fighting one of the rogues.”

“Oh.  _ Ouch _ ,” the she-cat added, as Bird pressed the poultice to one of her flanks, where the skin had been ripped off, and red muscle showed beneath, bleeding from a set of clawmarks. “Could you possibly be any less gentle?”

“Is it possible for you to be a little less injured?” Bird shot back, tugging the cobwebs into place. “There,” he said. “And no patrolling for the next two days, unless you want your wounds to get inflamed.”

Yarrowflight’s whiskers twitched; obviously displeased with the verdict, but she didn’t protest. 

There was a rustle, and Smoketalon entered. He addressed Bird. “You wanted to talk to me?” 

The healer nodded. “Yes. Meadowleap’s told you what happened?” At the she-cat’s nod, he continued. “I think it would be a good idea if you assigned two warriors to guard Owlstar, to ensure her safety.”

Smoketalon frowned. “Are you sure that’s necessary? Owlstar is young, and an excellent fighter. And we need our warriors to be patrolling for signs of the rogues.”

Bird shook his head. “We never know when they might attack,” he meowed. “And if you make patrols smaller, but more frequent, you should be able to spare two warriors.”

Smoketalon looked distinctly unhappy; but she nodded. “I suppose so,” she said. “All right. Owlstar, do you have any preferences?”

The she-cat rose from the alcove she had been tucked into. “Swiftfoot and Fernwhisker, I think,” she said. “They’re both good fighters, and have a good sense of danger.”

Her deputy nodded again. “I agree with your choices. I’ll go let them know of their new assignment.”

With that, she departed the den, Owlstar following after her. Bird finished applying the last of the cobwebs to Yarrowflight’s wounds. “Alright, you all can go now,” he said. “I’m starting to feel like a vole with so many cats packed into my den.”

Fincheye’s whiskers twitched; eyes twinkling; and he stood. Along with Lynxheart, he helped Yarrowflight to her paws, and the three of them made their way out of the healer’s den and back out into camp proper.

* * *

Lynxheart woke slowly; with a wide yawn. The was a crackle as her jaw opened, her tongue flicking out for a moment to taste the air.

It tasted fresh, and new, and full of possibilities; and Lynxheart rose, casting a gaze over the still sleeping forms of the warriors in the den; her gaze catching on Yarrowflight’s form. It had been almost a moon since the other had been attacked by the rogues, and her flank had healed up nicely; the fur regrowing, bright and beautiful, over it. Suddenly, her chest felt warm and full.

She slipped out of the den and into camp proper, revelling in the warmth of the early newleaf sunlight. The ground beneath her paws was cold, but it had a promise to it. 

Her ears flicked, picking up pawsteps, and she turned around to find Smoketalon, Willowsong, and Robinwing standing behind her. “Are you up for morning patrol?” Smoketalon meowed.

Lynxheart hummed. “Sure,” she said. “Where do you want me patrolling?”

“The Leopardclan border—you’ll be with Robinwing and Willowsong,” the she-cat replied, indicating the two toms by her side with a flick of her tail. “They’ve been good with their scentmarks, so you won’t have to worry about that. Just a routine check.”

“Understood,” Robinwing meowed. “Willowsong? Lynxheart?”

“Ready,” the two replied in unison; and they fell into step beside the tom. 

The walk to the border was peaceful; and the birdsong filled the air. When they reached the boundary line, they took turns scentmarking the various rocks and heather bushes that made up the boundary.

Just as they were about to make their way back to camp, Willowsong stopped. “Can anyone else smell that?” he asked. “Is that—Leopardclan?”

Robinwing turned to him, looking puzzled. “What—the scentmarks?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s recent—there!”

Lynxheart lifted her nose. “No, I smell it too,” she said. “The wind’s picking up, bringing their scent towards us. Are we going to wait for them?”

“Might be a good idea to,” Willowsong mused. “Unless anyone has any objections?”

The other two shook their heads. “Alright, then,” Willowsong said. “We’ll wait.”

A little while later, the silhouettes of four Leopardclan cats appeared over the crest of the hill. When they drew close, Willowsong called out, “Hello?”

One of the warriors—small, dark-furred, with a short tail and raggedy ears—squinted, before calling, “Willowsong?”

“Sandflight?” the tom questioned. “I’m surprised you’re on patrol! I thought your kits had only just left the nursery!”

The she-cat looked agitated. “I’m going to skip the pleasantries,” she said, tersely, “have either of you seen a group of cats come by this way? One was large and dark—”

The three Birdclan cats exchanged glances. “No, why?” Lynxheart asked.

“Servalstar was killed when a group of rogues attacked camp,” the she-cat said, grimly. “Marshdapple is acting as leader for now, but the clan’s been thrown into disarray—the only reason I’m out on patrol is that we wanted to get a patrol out to each clan and see if anyone had seen anything.”

“Oh, Ancestors,” Lynxheart breathed. Suddenly, the lightheartedness from earlier vanished, as if it were a vole eaten up by a hungry warrior. 

“Do you know something?” Sandflight asked; her gaze sharpening.

“We had a patrol attacked by a cat who we think may have been one of the ones who attacked your camp,” Lynxheart explained grimly.

“Yarrowflight and Fincheye?” Robinwing asked.

Lynxheart nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Willowsong meowed. “We’ll pass that information along to Smoketalon and Owlstar. Do you need us to send herbs to your healer to treat any wounded?”

The she-cat shook her head. “No, we’ve got it covered,” she said.

Willowsong nodded. “We’d better get back to camp, then.”

With that, the two patrols split ways; the Leopardclan patrol making its way back into their own territory, while the Birdclan patrol made their way back towards their own camp.

When they arrived, the camp was in pandemonium. Smoketalon greeted them with a grim expression. “Owlstar went hunting this morning,” she said. “Swiftfoot and Fernwhisker just returned—they were attacked by a group of rogues, and Owlstar was kidnapped.”


	12. chapter eleven

Lynxheart’s heart plummeted. “Stars,” she murmured, “I didn’t think—” she cut herself off. “We ran into a Leopardclan patrol,” she said, instead of continuing the train of thought. “Servalstar was killed when rogues attacked their camp earlier.”

Smoketalon’s expression, already grim, hardened. “You think they might be connected?” she meowed.

Lynxheart nodded.

Willowsong spoke. “The descriptions they gave of the cats who attacked their camp match those of the ones who attacked Fincheye and Yarrowflight, according to Lynxheart,” the grey tom said. “It doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to assume that they are the same ones behind Owlstar’s kidnapping.”

Smoketalon jerked her head in a rough approximation of a nod; obviously agitated. “Right,” she said; and then: “Lynxheart, can you fetch Yarrowflight? I need to speak with the two of you.”

Robinwing’s whiskers twitched, obviously annoyed at being ignored. “What’s so special about the two of them?” he challenged, jutting his chin out defiantly, and meeting Smoketalon’s gaze head on. 

The she-cat gazed back flintily. “Considering they have actually  _ interacted _ with the rogues in question, I’d say their opinions on the matter are more important than yours, Robinwing,” she rebuked. 

The tom deflated slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, shoving past the deputy and making his way to the prey-pile. Willowsong followed after him a moment later. 

Lynxheart dipped her head to the scarred deputy before making her way to the warrior’s den. Slipping inside, she scanned the nests until she caught sight of Yarrowflight’s yellow fur. The she-cat was dozing in a puddle of sunlight, looking quite relaxed, tail flicking languidly in her sleep. Lynxheart felt bad rousing her. But she nudged the she-cat anyway. “Wake up,” she murmured, “Smoketalon wants to talk to us.”

The other curled tighter. “Just a few more moments...”

“She wants to talk to us  _ now, _ ” Lynxheart said, prodding the she-cat a bit more insistently. “Come on. It’s about Owlstar.”

“Ugh. Fine, I’m awake,” Yarrowflight grumbled. She rose from her nest, stretching, claws digging into the dirt for a few moments as she did so. When she resumed a more natural position, there was still sleep in her eyes, and Lynxheart reflected that she looked almost... _ cute. _

She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge foolish thoughts. “Come on,” she said, brusquely, “Smoketalon’s waiting.”

The she-cat had perched herself on top of Highrock, watching over her clanmates; and when she caught sight of the two she-cats approaching, she leapt down. “Yarrowflight,” she greeted. “I assume you’re wondering why I asked to speak with you.”

“A bit, yeah,” the she-cat said, drily. “I gathered it has something to do with Owlstar?”

Smoketalon nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I want you and Lynxheart to track Owlstar’s scent—you’re the only two cats who aren’t currently assigned to a patrol, so you’re all I can spare, especially with the threat of the rogues attacking our camp.”

Lynxheart and Yarrowflight exchanged a glance. Finally, Lynxheart said, “Alright. When do you want us to leave?”

“You’ll visit Bird first,” the she-cat said. “He’ll give you some herbs to ease your travels. But I want you to leave before sundown—the quicker you begin to track the scent, the less time there is for it to fade.”

Yarrowflight nodded. “Alright,” she said. 

With that, the two were dismissed. They fell in step, in sync, to the healer’s den. Once there, Bird eyed them critically. “Travelling herbs?” he said. “Give me a moment.”

So saying, he began to reach into nooks and crannies in the cave wall, pulling out various herbs. After a while, he had pulled out quite a few, and began to sort them into two bundles. “There,” he said, “one for each of you. It’ll stave off hunger and sleep for a good day, but I wouldn’t push it any longer than that. It’ll also make you a bit stronger and sharper, but that’s also only temporary, so don’t rely on it.”

The two she-cats nodded, and began to eat the herbs. Yarrowflight gagged slightly as she chewed hers. “Ew,” she complained, “why do all herbs have to taste so rank?”

“Probably so cats don’t try and eat them,” Lynxheart replied. 

“Then what does that say about us?”

Lynxheart’s whiskers twitched; and she chewed and swallowed the rest of her herb bundle. 

With that, they were ready to go; and, bidding their farewells to the healer, and the deputy, when they passed her on the way to the camp exit, they made their way out of camp and into the brisk newleaf air, the wind whistling through their pelts as they made their way across the high moor.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. my dark wings/warriors specific sideblog is [dykeclaw](https://dyekclaw.tumblr.com/)


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